


Provenance

by orphan_account



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Anal Sex, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Violence, Drinking, During Canon, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Roughness, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Provenance (noun): the history of ownership of a valued object.





	Provenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pink_and_Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/gifts).

  
They're at mess, and Ice is bored, which is not uncommon. He was bored in class, and later he'll be bored in the locker room. The only place that consistently holds his attention is the cockpit, and Slider knows he'd be up there every second of his life, if he could. And he knows it's a goddamn miracle that he's held Ice's attention this long, but he's not going to let Ice know that. Ice gets bored because he's the smartest person in the room, because he's naturally talented, because he doesn't have to try hard to be dazzling. This also means he can be spoiled, and Slider would do a lot to stay in Ice's good graces, but there's no way in hell he's going to spoil him. Fawn over him. Treat him any different than any other blond he's fucked. 

Ice is bored. He's leaning back in his chair, his head lolling back, the blood rushing to his brain and to his cheeks. He's got the chair balanced perfectly, so there's no risk he'll fall. Unless Slider were to intervene, and do something to upset the delicate balance. Ice would fall, head first, probably wrench his wrist breaking the fall or bruise his beautiful face. Slider loves Ice, and sometimes he feels it so keenly that he wants to hurt him. 

He doesn't, though. Instead he looks at the shine of Ice's aviators, which he is wearing indoors, and asks, "Are you going to eat?" 

Ice breathes out slowly. "Why?" 

"It's lunch time. It's what one does." 

Ice's mouth twists, crimping in disapproval. It's a vapid statement. Now Slider is boring him. 

Slider kicks one of Ice's chair legs, and the chair and Ice with it crash to the floor. People look, and Ice is flushed and baring his teeth when he is able to stand. 

"Prick," he growls, and stalks off. 

Slider watches him go, and some unnamed fire burns behind his breastbone. 

***

Ice leaves campus without him, but Slider finds him at the O Club. He's tucked against the wall with a drink, and he's wearing his aviators again, still, but this time, Slider can tell as he sidles up close, they're hiding a bruise on his cheekbone he got tumbling to the floor earlier. He tenses when Slider comes over, turns his face away. Brat. 

Slider steps in close, forcing Ice against the wall a bit. "Nice shiner, Tommy." 

"Watch it," Ice says. There are icicles dangling from every word. 

"Let's get outta here," Slider says. 

"This is the only decent bar in town." 

"I got a bottle of Jack in the bunk. Come on, we can have a few drinks, go to bed tipsy…" 

"Pass," Ice hisses. 

Slider should have anticipated this. He takes a sip of his drink, the ice cubes smacking his teeth, and follows Ice's gaze. That peacock Mitchell is doing something loud at the bar, and people are watching, Ice included. 

Slider leans in close, his lips tickling Ice's ear as he speaks. "How'd you like to be buried balls deep in that? You take him, and I'll take you, so you don't forget who you belong to." 

Ice looks at him. Slider can't read his expression behind the mirrored lenses. 

"I don't belong to you," he says finally. "I don't belong to anyone, and I don't want to." 

He downs his drink and goes. Slider's above chasing him, but he feels chilled, all the way into the marrow of his bones. 

***

Slider hits a few other bars before going back to base. He ends with a stop at one of the gay bars, where he follows someone into the men's room. They have quick, dirty sex in one of the stalls, and he doesn't think of Ice at all. 

Back at their base assignment, Slider finds the lights are on, and listens before turning his key. Laughter, moaning. Fuck. 

Ice and Mitchell are on the couch with an entire six pack of empty bottles littering the coffee table in front of them. Ice is in his underwear, and Mitchell's lost his shirt, and his pants are open. Ice is on his knees between Mitchell's legs, and he's sucking him slow and deep. Mitchell sees Slider and goes kind of rigid, pawing at Ice’s shoulder, but Ice ignores them both. He’s not petty. He’s not doing this to fuck with Slider or to punish him; he’s doing it because he wants to, and if anything, _that’s_ the message: That Ice will do what he wants, and that there isn’t anything Slider can do about it. That Slider’s feelings on the matter don’t weight enough to impact his decision.

Slider looks at Mitchell, meets his eyes. He looks a little spooked, like he expects Slider to kick his ass. It’s not off the table.

“Ice,” Mitchell says, his hand running through Ice’s hair—gently, Slider thinks, fondly; differently than Slider touches him. He wonders if Ice wants that: Something soft. Something sweet. “Come on, man, hold up.”

Ice stops what he’s doing, finally, and looks up at Mitchell. “You don’t like it?”

Mitchell flushes. “No, Ice, I like it—I like it a lot, okay, man? But your roommate’s home.”

Ice looks back over his shoulder, putting on a show, at least, of this being the first time he’s noticed Slider’s presence.

“Oh,” he says, looking at Slider, talking to Mitchell. “Let’s go to my bedroom, then.”

Mitchell zips himself up, and helps Ice to his feet. Sweet. That’s sweet. They walk down the hall, and Slider waits half a minute before following them. Ice has closed the door, but he hasn’t locked it, and Slider enters Ice’s bunk to find both Ice and Mitchell naked on the bed, wrestling around a little. Mitchell is on top, and he’s cradling Ice’s face as he kisses him. Ice’s eyes are closed. Slider wonders if Ice closes his eyes when he kisses him.

Mitchell hears the door, and he goes rigid again.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, “what’s your problem?”

Ice lolls on the bed on his back, looking up at Mitchell with heavily lidded eyes. “He’s jealous,” he says.

“Watch it,” Slider says.

Ice continues like he didn’t hear. “He doesn’t like you touching me.”

“Are you guys, like—?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ice says. “I’m here with you. I wanna be with you. Is that okay?”

Mitchell hesitates, but then he nods. “Of course it is, Ice.”

Ice looks at Slider. “Get lost.”

“That really what you want?” Slider asks.

Ice considers for a moment. “Don’t touch him,” he says. “Don’t touch him, and you can stay.”

Slider nods. Mitchell looks a little freaked out still, but then Ice pulls him down, kisses him long and slow, and Slider knows what a good kisser Tommy is; he knows how easy it is to get lost in those kisses, and how persuasive they can be. Mitchell melts, and soon they’re fooling around again, Slider still at the door, watching.

Eventually, he moves closer. He strips down to his briefs, and sits at the edge of the bed while Ice and Mitchell roll around, kissing and touching each other. Ice is being submissive, which is a rare thing and drives Slider absolutely fucking insane, and he balls his hands in the sheets to keep himself from grabbing Mitchell and tossing him off the bed so he can mount Ice himself. He promised he wouldn’t, and maybe there’s not much between them that’s constant, but they always keep their word.

Ice is moaning Mitchell’s name—no, not Mitchell, _Maverick_—as Mitchell fingers him, Ice twitching beneath him, eyes squeezed shut. It’s not a performance, and that’s why Slider hates it. He’s enjoying this; he likes what Mitchell can give him that Slider can’t. Well, maybe can’t isn’t the right word. Because Slider recognizes the part of him that kicked Ice's chair out from under him, and he also knows there's a part that wanted to scoop him up and kiss his wounds better, and he knows for sure which part scares him more. He would leave Ice on the floor to bleed, but he would never show him his vulnerabilities, and if that’s what Ice wants, then he’s fucked. _Won’t._ That’s the word. Won’t.

Ice comes, moaning and panting, and pulls Mitchell close and kisses him.

“My turn,” he says.

Slider watches while Ice gets Mitchell ready. He’s being sweet, too, and Slider wants to hit him. He imagines the crack when his knuckles slam against Ice’s teeth, the pain running up his own arm, the blood. But he just sits there quietly, watches Ice urge Mitchell to his hands and knees, push inside him with a sigh. He waits until Ice has found a good tempo, Mitchell moaning and tossing his head, and then he stands up, and he sheds his underwear. Mitchell did the hard part for him, getting Ice lubed and ready, and so all Slider has to do is push in. He gets up on the bed behind him, waits a moment to figure out Ice’s rhythm, and then he grabs Ice by the hips as he pulls back, and he bends him over, a rough hand in his hair, and he pushes his cock into Ice. Ice grunts, pants, and he’s still for a moment, but then Mitchell whines, and Ice goes back to fucking him, Slider still inside him. Slider really doesn’t have to do much; Ice’s is providing plenty of good friction, bobbing up and down on his dick as he moves his hips to fuck Mitchell, but he wants to. He wants to jackhammer Ice through the goddamn mattress, and since that’s off the table at the moment, he holds onto Ice’s hips, uses it to find his own rhythm thrusting inside Ice. It’s stuttery, uncoordinated at first, and he can tell by how stiff Ice is holding his shoulders that he doesn’t like it, but he’s letting him, and that’s enough. _Take it,_ Slider thinks, _take it, you spoiled brat. Remember who you belong to._

You can’t help it, Slider knows. Who you belong to. It’s just something that _is_.  



End file.
